


Little One

by obihoekenobi



Series: King Boba Fett [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: F/M, I blame boba fett's thighs, I somehow wrote this in every tense possible the first time round, come thirst over boba with me, marking this teen because reader is a horndog, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:29:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28508973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obihoekenobi/pseuds/obihoekenobi
Summary: You're a medic who was hired by Bib Fortuna to look after the criminals of the Hutt's Palace. It's no honest living but then they're aren't many left on Tatooine.Then Boba Fett comes along.
Relationships: Boba Fett/Original Female Character(s), Boba Fett/Reader
Series: King Boba Fett [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2092080
Comments: 11
Kudos: 125





	Little One

**Author's Note:**

> Boba Fett's thighs are innocent. It's me, I'm to blame. 
> 
> Read the end notes for warnings.

Mornings in the Hutt's Palace are normally quiet. There's always people coming and going but by the morning time, most of the revelry had died down. Usually you had to pick your way over multiple people lining the corridor outside your room, groaning as you passed by.

You often wondered if they were on their way to your quarters to ask for some kind of hangover remedy. You were glad they weren't successful on their venture. You liked your sleep after all. That's why it took you several moments to orient yourself, when the noise started outside. 

Today they were people lining your corridor but instead of hearing a cacophony of snoring, you were greeted by several groaning men and women. They were all in various states of distress, clutching their heads and sides, blaster fire decorating the walls. 

You made your way carefully down the hall, taking stock of the injured as you did. Most seemed to be relatively unharmed, and would likely only suffer a sore head or a broken nose at most, but there were several men who had clearly put up a bigger fight and been shot for their efforts. It seemed the person firing hadn't been aiming anywhere vital. At least it seemed like that. Either that or they were a crap aim. But then, someone with a crappy aim wouldn't be breaking into the Hutt's Palace.

You freeze in place as you feel a presence approaching. It's followed by the measured sound of boots tapping along the floor in what can only be described as stalking. And then she steps in the mouth of the hall, casting a long shadow.

She's a slight woman, smaller than you and clad in black. You can barely make it out in the dim glow of the candlelight, but you think you can see red string twined through her black hair. She's clutching what can only be described as a really big rifle. 

"Follow me", she says, turning neatly on her heels and stalking away. She's a woman who expects to be followed. You can't find it in you to be insulted that she doesn't consider you a threat. She's right. 

With a sense of finality, you follow after her. Hopefully, you can get this over with as quickly as possible so you can return to treating the injured. You have no love for the Hutt's but you can't ignore pain and suffering when it's right in front of you.

Maybe these new conquerors would have need of a medic? It looks like they had gone out of their way to avoid bloodshed, so you assumed they were here for the long run. Or at least, they didn't plan on starting a bloodbath. Maybe they would leave once they got what they wanted.

The other woman leads you to the throne room. You wonder what spectacle you were about to lay witness to and if it might be the last thing you see.

And then you catch sight of him.

A Mandalorian, lounging on the Hutt throne like he thinks he owns it. You find you are rather inclined to agree with him.

The woman takes her place beside him, reclining along the arm of the throne. She's the picture of relaxation, as she props the gun lazily between her legs.

They make quite the striking image - in a way no one who had sat there before ever had. 

His armour glints a dark green, patches of yellow catching your eye. And red. You were right about the other woman's hair. The intricate style matches the outlines of red that can be found on his visor. 

It was then you realised they might be waiting for you to speak. You decide to leave them waiting. 

"You work for Fortuna?", the Mandalorian asks finally, voice rasping from within his helmet.

"If you want to call it that", I reply easily, clasping my hands loosely infront of me, "I'm a medic". 

"What else would you call it?". 

"Indentured servitude? Coercion? Desperation? Take your pick, sir".

The way you spoke did little to betray the harried beat of your heart. You can practically feel it in your throat. You had gotten used to speaking to violent people over the last few years but being Fortuna's preferred medic had granted you some level of respect. Without him, you had nothing and wasn't that a grim thought.

You can stay here, I can grant you food and board but you will continue your job", he replies, as if you hadn't spoken. You take a moment to comprehend what he is offering. Did he mean to force you to stay?

As if reading your mind, he speaks again. 

"Of course you're free to leave but I have the feeling you have nowhere else to go". 

It was true. You didn't.

It looks like you were staying after all. 

* * *

"My name if Boba Fett, I'm going to be running things around here from now on". 

You watch the men's reaction from your spot against the wall. It surprises you when there's not one compliant or grumble, beside the quiet murmur and groans of injured men, shifting bound arms or leaning on comrades for strength. 

"You have a problem, you take it up with me or you make yourself scarce". 

He's imposing. From the casual spread of his thighs to the deep timbre of his voice. You can't take your eyes off him. 

You're grateful for the chance to watch him, as the men begin to approach him with questions, one by one. You're still surprised by easy compliance but then power recognises power. And everyone knows what a power vacuum in Hutt space feels like. 

You wonder what it would be like to sit on his lap. 

As of hearing your thoughts, his helmet tilts towards you and he beckons you forward. 

The crowd parts slowly for you, a few grumbling as you skip ahead of them. You pay them no heed, they'll say nothing or else you'll forget pain relief next time you stitch them up. 

'"What about you, little one?". 

"Me?", you reply, surprise colouring your voice. You don't even register the nickname until after you've spoken, a pleasant thrill going up your spine. 

"What do you want?".

And isn't that a loaded question. Most of things you think of first aren't worth repeating in polite company. Well, somewhat polite company. 

"That my medical supplies stay stocked", you settle on finally, "and that you and the men respect my expertise when I give you medical advice". 

The second request is a long shot. Bib Fortuna never respected your advice. No matter how much you raised your voice, he still sent half dead men and woman out to meet their faith. You supposed it could have been worse, atleast he listened to you after all. Maybe Fett would be a step up? 

"Show me where you work", he replies instead, rising gracefully from his throne. Fennec quickly takes his place, leg thrown over the arm of the throne. She owns the seat just as well as Fett. 

You have a moment to marvel at how he hulk's over you before he descends down the steps. A moment of indecision hangs over you before you turn, not waiting for him to follow. 

If Fennec stalked, you can only describe how he moves as striding. You have to quicken your pace to stay ahead of him, weaving through the dark corridors quickly. A few stragglers still have to stagger out of your way as you do and you can't help but glance back at Fett each time. His helmet never so much as twitches and you can't help but wonder where he's looking underneath the Beskar.

Or what he looks like.

You're saved from falling down that sarlacc pit by your arrival outside of your room. You can't help but feel trepidation as you let him into your quarters. You've never cared about anyone seeing your space before. But for some reason it matters to you now. You're just glad you usually kept the place clean.

It's a small oval room, everything cast in an orange glow. There's no outside source of light, something you were always glad of. The sight of Tatooine's endless sands never did anything but fill you with despair. 

The rest of the furnishings were old and mismatched. Random things you picked up at the local market or leftover crates you requisitioned after a particularly successful hauls. There was clutter everywhere, from plants and herbs to odds and ends the mercenaries had given to you in thanks for a job well done. All in all, you liked to think you had made your stamp.

It seems pitiful now, as Boba looks around. 

"This is where you practice?", he asks, looking pointedly at the bed in the corner. You wonder why it gave him pause.

"Yes, well, it's a tight fit at the moment but I make it work", I say, somewhat defensively. 

"Pick a room, any room".

"What?", you reply, confusion colouring your voice. What was he on about? Did he expect you to move?

"For your practice, your living quarters should be private". 

You weren't sure if the flush making it's way to your cheeks was in embarrassment or in pleasure. You decide there and then it would take some repeated experimentation to find out. 

You wondered if it would be too brazen to ask for Bib Fortuna's old quarters. 

* * *

Ever since you were small, you'd always had a heightened sense of awareness. Your Pa called it a gift. Right now, you called it a curse. 

The room they had set you up in was much bigger than your own room. It had once been used as one of the opulent guest suites. A room the Hutt's used to win over new allies. The finery had been stripped away and replaced with your equipment. Several cots had been rolled in as well, allowing you to keep people in overnight for observation. 

They even converted the storage rooms into private clinics for you to conduct examinations. 

Which led you to your current situation. 

Fett dismantling his armour, seemingly without a care in the world. He seems blissfully unaware of your inner turmoil. 

You try to keep your hands busy, otherwise you might not be able to control your impulses. Unfortunately, there's only so many times you can reorganize your supplies. You're painfully aware of ever sound and rustle he makes as he completes what can only be called the slowest strip tease ever. 

He sets every piece of armour aside gently. From his vambraces to his shin guards. It's only when he goes to lift his helmet that you stop pretending to be doing something else. 

You had spent the last few weeks sequestered away in the clinic, setting everything up and relishing in the supplies Fett had gifted you with. You had yet to see his face. Though that didn't make your dreams any less vivid. 

The first thing you noticed were brown eyes. Soulful eyes. You let his eyes trail over his square jaw next, noting the scars that decorated it. He was handsome, you decided. Rugged.

"We starting with a visual examination?", he asked, his voice even deeper without the distortion of his helmet. You startle slightly, flushing in embarrassment at being caught staring. You awkwardly clear your throat before turning back around.

"Please take off your shirt". 

You can't help but steal a glance over your shoulder, watching as thick biceps curl inwards as he peels off the black material. 

Mouth dry, you twist around again, the flush spreading all the way to the back of your neck. You'd always been easy to colour, and it was even more noticeable now. Any tan that had ever graced your skin faded from years spent indoors. 

"You ready to start?", you ask needlessly, turning to survey him from under your lashes. 

You trail forward as he hops up on your examination table, large hands clasped loosely along the edge. 

You decide that was a good place to start. Not safe exactly but better than the other options. 

"Your hands", you order, forcing authority into your voice. This was your space and your job, and you wouldn't let some stupid crush make you look like a fool. 

He offers them to you almost too easily. They were warm and rough, and you note with no little pleasure that they dwarved yours in size. 

"Looks good", you say, detachedly scanning for any abnormalities. He had good range of motion, his face impassive as you check each finger individually. You falter slightly at his thumb, as you consider how good it might feel put to use elsewhere. 

You squash the thought down as quickly as it emerges. 

"Any aches or pains?", you continue, purposely not looking at him as you scan your checklist. You don't want to make any assumptions. 

"Nothing in particular, some back pain but I think that might just be old age catching up on me". 

By the time you realise it was a joke, it's too late to laugh. 

"Okay, I'm going to check your vitals next", you say, reaching for your stethoscope. 

You make sure to hold it against your wrist for a moment to warm it up before placing it gently on his chest. You're greeted by the steady beat of his heart. You're surprised to feel his hand brush fleetingly over your own, and when you turn your gaze he's gone back to clutching the edge of the table. 

"Sounds.. sounds good", you finish lamely, cursing yourself in your head. 

Under duress, you would hardly be able to recall the rest of the examination. Everything blurring together until you reached the final piece.

"Everything looks to be in good order, to finish your physical I just need to give you one last um, check over".

The skin pebbles under touch, as you place both your hands along the sensitive skin of his ribs. You wait for his reaction before applying any pressure. You can't help but notice how your hands struggle to cover the span of him. The rise and fall of his chest feels intensely intimate, somehow. 

For someone who usually decks himself out in Beskar, he was being awfully docile as you feel him up. Check him up, you chastise yourself internally. You were no fancy doctor but you had a creed. One that did not include taking advantage of your patients. 

"Your new setup", he speaks suddenly, and you can feel the rumble in his chest, "it's satisfactory?". 

"More than", you reply, earnestly. 

"Good, I wasn't sure".

"You weren't sure?", you prompt, in disbelief. He'd gone above and beyond what you'd asked of him. 

"I don't see much of you". 

"Oh".

You weren't exactly avoiding him. You just weren't sure how to conduct yourself around him. Okay, you were avoiding him. 

"Oh?".

It was his turn to prompt me. I let my hands fall to my sides uselessly, as I search for an excuse. 

"Well, I haven't had much time..", you begin, nervously. 

"You need assistance?", he asks.

"No, no exactly, not yet, maybe in the future it would be nice to have an apprentice". 

"So you're not busy?".

"Oh no, I am".

"Too busy to leave your clinic?".

"I do leave it, I just don't really interact with the others".

It's a weak excuse. One he sees right through. 

"Fennec told me you two have taken to drinking together".

You curse yourself for letting him talk you in circles. 

"Well, yes", you reply, floundering, "but she seeks me out herself". 

He seems to contemplate this for a moment, eyes falling away from you for the first time since he entered the room. 

"So I have to seek you out if I want the pleasure of your company". 

"If you call it a pleasure", you chuckle, breathlessly, placing your hands back onto his chest. 

"Feels..".

"Good?", he finishes, and this time it's obvious he's teasing you.

"You could say that", you reply, trailing your hands down over his pecs. His grip is suddenly firm and you wonder for a moment if you've overstepped his boundaries, before he pulls you in between his thighs. Even sitting, he towers over you. 

"So, do I pass my physical?", he purrs, as you feel all the air rush from the room. It was beyond inappropriate and never a kink you'd have before, but you decided anything was a kink if it was spoken in that same, deep rumble. 

"Is this the part were I joke about doing an oral exam?". 

"Shut up, little one".

**Author's Note:**

> Contains medical examinations, some violence and also a power dynamic (King Boba). 
> 
> So, there we have it. I really enjoyed writing this. If the ending seems a little abrupt that's because the rest of the fic descended into smut. The mind is weak guys. 
> 
> A lot of fluff but who cares. Also if you couldn't tell, Fennec could like, get it. 
> 
> Come find me on tumblr under the same name!


End file.
